


Ripping Wings off Butterflies

by FireAwayy



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drug Use, F/M, M/M, Minor Character Death, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Prostitution, Rape/Non-con References, Venegeful!Natasha, dark!, is there any other?, policeofficer!steve, sassy clint because
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-13
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-08 08:33:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/759304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireAwayy/pseuds/FireAwayy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha was 8 years old when her Mob boss father shot her Mother. Her mother's dying wish was for Natasha to run as far away from her father as possible...so she did. Natasha runs her entire life, one step ahead of the man who wants to claim his child and mould her into something evil and dark.<br/>Natasha is content to never see her father again, until she meets Officer Rogers. He picks up the pieces of her shattered life and makes it worth living again.<br/>"And all the kings horses and all the kings men couldn't put Humpty Dumpty back together again."<br/>Just maybe Steve could put Natasha together again.</p>
<p>But when Natasha's father means Steve harm will Natasha keep running? </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Un-Beta'd so any mistakes are all mine. Comments and feedback are LOVED.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Monsters

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm just going to come out and say I have no idea where the hell this came from. I don't even sort of ship Natasha/Steve. But this story has been bouncing around in my head for close to a year now: a young Russian girl supporting herself by hooking while running away from her Mob father. I have daddy issues, sorry.  
> But I wanted to write it in a fandom and couldn't find the right characters...then I was like dude. I have a bamf!Russian girl already, cue Natasha. And Steve...well I'm ridiculously in love with Steve so...Steve parade. 
> 
> So I added smart-ass genius Tony, sassy Clint (because I apparently can't write ANYTHING without him showing up), the sexy and competent Phil Coulson, tea drinking Bruce, and one eyed mofo Fury. Along with others who are not important enough to write about. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't speak Russian, do not understand Russian, or really know much about modern Russia. I have never been to NYC so I'm writing off what I see in TV shows. My Police Officer knowledge comes from TV too. I also do not know ANYTHING about Natasha/Black Widow character. I have not read her comics or anything, so I made her into what I would imagine she would be in this situation. Authors perogative, sorry if its GLARINGLY wrong. 
> 
> Warning: There is a LOT of dark thoughts and vengence in this fic, Natasha is gonna go whoop ass on a lot of people (including Steve). There will be mentions of Rape and non-con (though not in much detail). 
> 
> And in case you're in the mood to be in the right frame of mind for what Natasha is thinking:  
> Soundtrack:  
> Dark Side by Kelly Clarkson  
> Brick by Boring Brick by Paramore  
> Monster by Paramore  
> Ignorance by Paramore

                Glass shattered against the wall, bathing the carpet in a mosaic of pain. Natasha squeezed her body closer to the back of the couch, wedging between it and the wall with her eyes closed. Her tangled hair hung in knots in front of her face as she tucked her knees up to her chin willing the tears away. He would not be happy if he caught her crying.

                Russian was screamed back and forth as the two adults in the room argued. Natasha spoke Russian fluently, he would be displeased if she didn’t, but she tuned out the words. Not that it mattered, it was an old argument and one her mother never won.

                _“I want her, I will have her. She is my progeny! She will take my place when I fall.”_

_“Never!”_ her mother hissed back, hands on her slim hips. _“She is my daughter, I bore her and I care for her. I work to give her the best and what have you done, eh? You cannot walk in and take my child.”_

The man, her father, was eerily quiet. Suspicion sparked in Natasha’s breast. He was never silent. Then there was a click and a soft muffled thump. Natasha began shaking then because she knew that sound, had heard it often enough in the alley outside her home.

                _“Where is she?”_ her father snarled.

                A weak moan. _“Gone. Back to Russia where she is safe.”_ Then a soft wet laugh.

                The man cursed and stormed from the house, slamming the door open hard enough that the door knob embedded itself into the wall. Natasha bit down on her lip hard enough to draw blood—she must not cry out…she must not let him find her.

                From the beginning her mother had warned her about her father. Natasha’s father was a very evil man she said, but he had given her mother a gift—had given her Natasha. All her life had been spent running from place to place trying to escape him. She had only met him twice in her life—she had his bright green eyes, cold and calculating but she had her mother’s deep red hair.

                Natasha continued hiding, afraid to step out from behind the couch. Her mother always begged her to stay hidden, but when a half hour passed and she heard only the occasional car drive by or someone slamming the dumpster closed she took a deep breath and screwed up all the courage her 8 year old body had and stood.

                The room was sparsely decorated only a couch and a few boxes for tables, the kitchen was a mismatch of takeout containers and dirty plates. But Natasha didn’t register the state of the small apartment; her eyes were glued on the prone form of her mother. Her mother was on her back, a pool of blood surrounding her middle. Her dark hair was fanned out behind her head and she was breathing, just barely. Natasha allowed herself a small cry and ran to her, landing on her knees and taking her mother’s hand. Her pale skin was soon coated in the warm crimson color but she took no notice.

                “Mama.” She said softly a sob wracking her body.

                Her mother’s dark eyes opened and she smiled faintly. “My little spider.” She said softly, the words thick with Russian accent. Her mother used the nickname she bestowed upon her daughter—Natasha loved to climb things and was especially fond of kicking.

                “Mama what do I do?” she knew her mother was dying: there was no need for either of them to pretend. The bastard had shot her in the belly, a cruel punishment.

                Her mother squeezed her hand gently, her hand cold and clammy. “Run my little spider. Do not let him find you. He is…” she coughed painfully and dropped Natasha’s hand. “he is only part of you. Do not let that part become whole. You are so much better than him.” She said this last part with a sigh and closed her eyes.

                Natasha dropped her mother’s hand and stood up. There was no point sitting there and mourning. That was no longer her mother, just an empty shell. Like a candy bar that had been eaten…all that was left was the wrapper, all the good stuff was gone.

                A woman screamed outside as they finally caught sight of the trashed apartment and the dead woman in the threshold of the door. Natasha flinched and took off out the door, streaking down the street faster than any eight year old had a right to be. She shoved any feelings away and focused on running, zigzagging through the streets and alleys and sliding past surprised people. She hadn’t bothered to pack, there was nothing to take.

                She left that Natasha behind, back with her dead mother.

 

 

 

 

 

                They always say your first case sticks with you, nags at you and changes you for the better. Steve Rogers found himself disappointed that his first case as an Officer of the NYPD was a dead hooker.

                Not that he didn’t believe this woman deserved less of his attention just because of her occupation, or less respect, he was just hoping for a little more…excitement. Steve pulled up his brand new notepad and examined the small apartment. It was bare and ugly not a trace of personalization anywhere to be found. The woman lying supine at his feet had dark red hair and had been shot in the belly. Looking at her now, as she had been in the last moment of her life, she didn’t look like a hooker. Wearing jeans and a sweatshirt she looked like any other 25 year old woman living in New York.

                Detective Coulson clapped a hand on his shoulder. “What do you see, kid?” he asked looking at Steve, his eyes noting the skinny lanky frame and shaking his head. What was the department thinking? This kid would blow away in a stiff wind.

                “Not much sir.” Steve reported stiffly, looking to impress his boss. He pushed some of his carefully styled hair from his eyes. “Dead female, approximately 25 years of age according to the M.E. Talking to several neighbors they said she was…a…uh prostitute.” Steve colored a little at the words and Phil shook his head softly, kneeling down to look at the dead woman’s face.

                “Such a waste.” He answered, finding the woman quite pretty.

                “Yo boss.” Tony came in from the street, a pencil stuck behind his ear. Tony was a few years older than Steve, a trust fund baby who decided to help people to make up for past indiscretions. “Talked to some more people: no one saw or heard anything, shocking I know.” He said with his usual sarcastic lilt. No one liked to talk, especially in this neighborhood.

                “But,” he said his eyes softening. “lady who lived next door said there was a kid, a girl about eight years old. Said the kid would climb up the fire escape almost daily, giggling and speaking Russian.”

                Phil stood and rubbed his eyes. “Description of the girl?”

                Tony flipped open his notebook with a kind of flair only he could manage. “Tall and lean, little too skinny according to the neighbor, long bright red hair with bright green eyes, around eight years old.”

                Steve looked over at Coulson. The detective was shorter than him but broader and had an air of competency about him that was instantly reassuring. “You think she was killed for the kid or the kid got in the way and the doer took her?”

                Phil nibbled on his lip and walked to the kitchen. An evidence guy was dusting around for prints and he dodged Phil’s authoritative presence almost by instinct. There was a canvas bag on the counter that had already been processed—in one plastic baggy was a wallet. Phil snapped on some gloves and pulled the wallet out. No credit cards or ID of any kind but pushed into one of the pockets was a folded up photograph. Phil gently pried it out and opened it. Steve and Tony stared at him with gaping mouths. How in hell had he known that was there? Tony shot Steve a look and wiggled his eyebrows.

                The best way to deal with Tony was to ignore him, so Steve stepped forward and looked over Phil’s shoulder at the photo. It was presumably of the missing daughter. The girl was smiling shyly, sitting in a garden somewhere. Her jeans and t-shirt were ratty but she was still lovely. Her skin was naturally pale which set off her dark red hair. But her eyes drew Steve in: bright green with an unnatural sense of sadness and intelligence. Tony sidled next to him and nodded. “Get this picture out?” he asked softly, shocking into silence by the photo of the young girl.

                Phil nodded. “Please.”

                Tony took the photo and walked outside confirming with the neighbor that this was indeed the girl and it was a recent photo before slipping down the stoop and confronting the Press. The Press loved Tony and he did a damn good job, much better than the nervous stuttering Steve.  

                Coulson had tried to get Steve to do more Press things, he was good looking despite his thin frame and sickly nature. But Steve panicked with all those eyes looking at him and clammed up.

                Phil patted him on the shoulder and left the small apartment but Steve stayed and looked at the dead woman, now almost completely alone in the shit hole this woman called a home. “Did you die protecting her?” he whispered softly. “I promise I’ll try to find her.” He whispered again, fingers touching the badge pinned to his chest before exiting the apartment without a look back, but with his notebook clenched firmly in his hands.

 

 

                Tony walked up to Steve and sat on his desk, dropping a file on his desk. “Natalie Romanoff.” Steve eagerly jerked the file toward him and flipped it open. A mug shot of the dead woman looked out at him and he could see traces of the girl in her face.

                “Couple of arrests for Solicitation, some drug and alcohol stuff way back when.”

                “That’s not much Tony.”

                Tony grinned a shark smile. “Obviously I have more for you, Apple Pie.” Tony said  
using the nickname he gave the classically good looking Steve. Steve let it slide.

                “About ten years ago this Natalie came to America illegally and seems to be linked to the Red Web.”

                Steve looked up quickly. “The Russian mob?”

                Tony poked Steve on the nose and made a buzzer sound. “Righto. But it gets better: she seems to have been the favorite concubine of the Red Web’s Leader…the Red Spider. ‘Course no one knows his real identity, the guy’s good. Deadly and damn good at evading us.”

                Steve leaned back and stayed quiet. He knew that look on Tony’s face, Tony had a thought and was working through it making sure to piece and puzzle everything together. If Steve waited Tony would get it all together and present it to him.

                “Looks like Natalie Romanoff  dropped off the grid about eight years ago, which makes sense, clearly she went off to raise her daughter. Only question is: was she hiding from the Web or still working with them? Did the Web take her daughter and kill the mother? Or is the kid just running scared? And why?”

                “Tony that’s four questions.”

                The dark skinned man waved his hands around. “Don’t throw semantics at me, I’m thinking.”

                Steve laughed at Tony. He was fond of the older man and they’d become close friends, Tony making sure Steve stayed current on social references and Steve making sure Tony ate and didn’t die of carbon dioxide poisoning while he locked himself away in his garage to work on his antique cars. They’re friendship worked, even though Tony’s tastes were quite a bit more wild than Steve’s.

                Steve stared at the dates and timeline that was beginning to form. “Tony…what if the girl is the Spider’s daughter?” Steve suddenly asked. “I don’t have anything to back me up but…what if Natalie took her daughter away from him, away from the life to protect her. And he finally caught up with them.”

                Tony leaned back and pondered what Steve was saying. The Station was busy, Officers milling around and paperwork flying as they grumbled about the amount on their desks. The coffee machine gurgled and Tony’s eyes flew to it, his coffee senses tingling. He leapt off the desk and grabbed a cup, returning to sit on Steve’s neat desk even though Steve kicked a chair over for him.

                “When I worked in the Gang Unit last year they told us how possessive the Red Spider is. He keeps his family as close as possible, and treats blood like this sacred bond. If she did take his daughter away he would be livid.”

                “Angry enough to kill?”

                Tony shot him a what-do-you-think-idiot look.

                “But does he have the girl already or is he searching for her?”

                Tony hummed and chugged his coffee, the fifth cup this afternoon. “If he doesn’t have her we need to find her. That girl could be the key to bringing down his entire operation. And if he gets his hands on her we’ll never find her.”

                Steve rested his chin on his chest and looked down at the perfectly polished badge on his chest.

                _I promise I will find her._


	2. Brick By Boring Brick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha meets Steve for the first time. Clint is a sassy guy with an insane sex drive. Coulson is a bamf! Tony is pining after Steve (in a totally subtle way). And Fight Club references.

~~~Nine Years Later~~~

 

Natasha sat back, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth. Dirty red hair hung in front of listless eyes as she looked up at the man looming above her. A streetlight flickered and cast shadows across his face. Natasha stood and took a step back from his brooding presence.

He smiled and pulled his pants back up, cinching the belt across his massive girth.

“C’mon.” she said softly, eyes glancing all around the dirty alley. Anywhere but at him. It’s not like she was ashamed, it was just a blow job. She’d done a lot worse for a lot less…it’s just this guy gave her the creeps. He made her skin shiver and crawl and she just wanted to take her money and disappear. Natasha was good at disappearing, really fucking good at disappearing. And she liked to use her talents. She evaded cops and gangs that way, she even taught some of the other street girls how to do it so they could disappear sometimes too. 

Natasha didn’t plan on this life. She didn’t plan on becoming a prostitute or to be homeless. But once you grew curves and breasts it became difficult to beg for food and money, people wanted a reason to give it to you. Her mother did it—not that Natasha ever saw her mother with any clients or even saw her scantily clad—but looking back it was the only way for her mother to make money. 

The transition had been easy, and Natasha rarely found herself swamped with guilt or anything else. She was careful and clean, and set her own standards for where and when she worked and with who. She didn’t need a pimp because she could handle herself. 

Natasha pushed some tangled hair from her face and met the short man’s eyes. “We agreed on $80.” She reached her hand out towards him, palm up and but on her best bitch face. “Let’s go. I’m fucking freezing.” She said the last bit trying to appeal to his humanity. 

He smirked and reached out for her, hands grabbing her hips and yanking her forward. “You know, $80 is a lot of money for a half assed blow job.” He whispered in her ear, his breath foul and steamy against her cheek. “I was thinkin’ you come back to mine…stick around for a little while. Got some fun toys and…handcuffs.” 

Natasha licked her lips and surveyed the situation, relaxing a little and forcing herself to accept the situation. 

“Really?” she purred, hands sliding up to stroke his pasty cheeks. Her fingers curled into his greasy hair and she rubbed his earlobes. “I have a better idea.” She said softly and he cocked his head in interested. 

Natasha’s fingers gripped down on his ears painfully. She took one step back and in a fluid motion brought his head crashing down against her knee. He staggered back, blood oozing down his face. She kicked him again, listening to the sickening crunch of his nose and his wail of pain. If he looked up he would have seen the glint of murder in her green eyes as she pushed him to the ground. 

Inside Natasha was battling—good vs evil. The part of her that was rooted in her mother screamed for her to stop, to walk away. The man was incapacitated and she was safe. But the part that was her father yelled for retribution, for justice. How many women had this man hurt? Will this man hurt if he’s allowed to live? 

She bit her lip and punched him in the back of the head, breaking one of her fingers but silencing his whimpers. 

“How much is that worth?” she snarled. 

Ignoring the pain she rooted around in his wallet and pulled out the two hundred dollars he had and stuffed them in her jacket pocket. 

Natasha stood, a little shakily in her ridiculous heels that the men loved, and spat on his back before walking away. By the time she reached the street she had regained confidence. To any onlooker she would seem your average girl walking home from a date on a Friday night. Natasha made it a point to never look like a hooker—tonight she was wearing a denim skirt with black leggings and a pale white t-shirt. A matching jean jacket helped block some of the winter wind but it wasn’t enough and she found herself clenching her teeth to keep from shivering. 

She tossed the man’s wallet in the gutter somewhere, hoping some con artist would steal his identity and ruin his life. Natasha had left her mark by breaking his nose and leaving quite a few bruises behind, she allowed herself a small smirk at that thought. 

“Ma’am are you ok?” the voice cut through her and she paused mid-step. 

She spun and looked at the officer, her eyes sliding up and down his lanky frame. He was tall with dark hair and a funny goatee, his brown eyes hard as he looked at her  
.  
“Peachy Officer. Thanks for asking.” She shot him a little salute and spun around, taking up a brisk pace she hoped he wouldn’t match. 

A hard hand closed around her bicep and she resisted the urge to mule kick him. “Yes?” she asked, trying to keep the sarcastic lilt out of her voice. 

“Ma’am are you aware you’re covered in blood?” 

Fuck it all. 

Natasha bit her lip and took a deep breath then forced herself to laugh. “Oh, that! Officer I’m an artist and I had a little mishap.” She turned and smiled, brighter than she’d smiled in a long time and her face screamed in protest. 

The Officer raised his eyebrow and looked down at her covered belly. “Don’t lie to me girl.” He said, his hard eyes softening a little. He took stock of her body and eyed her right hand, taking stock of the finger bent at the wrong angle and her bruised and bloody knuckles. “You’ve been in a fight.” 

“What’s the first rule about fight club?” she snarked. She couldn’t help herself, he walked right into it. 

The man cracked a grin but his hold didn’t loosen. “What happened? Do I need to take you to a hospital?” 

Natasha gritted her teeth. “No, but if you don’t let me go I’ll send you to the hospital.” 

Turns out threatening an Officer of the Law will get you hauled off to the Precinct for questioning. Even if you weren’t really threatening him and said Officer was being a nosy ass.

 

Tony slammed to door to the interrogation room and stalked down towards Steve. “I could have died.” He announced dramatically. 

Steve looked up from the file he was reading and raised an eyebrow? 

“What?” 

“Tonight my welfare was threatened by a hardened convict. I swear they were huge Steve, wanted to knock me around but I subdued them with me excellent—,”

“It was a ninety pound girl Stark. A wittle itty bitty girl.” Clint Barton said, coming around the corner. He stopped in front of Stark with his signature shit eating grin. “Stop embellishing Stark.” 

“Like you should talk!” Tony yelped indignantly.

Clint and Tony were seconds away from one of their verbal wars, the stuff of legend honestly. But Steve waved his hands toward them. 

“Tony! Tony, when did you bring in a girl?” 

Tony had his finger in Clint’s arrogant face when he turned to Steve. “Some girl was covered in blood and skipping down the street, smirk on her face. Asked if she was okay and she threatened me…after she referenced Fight Club.” 

Clint perked up like a Meer cat in the desert. “She referenced Fight Club? Is she hot?”

“Clint.” Steve said, shaking his head. 

“Shut up Steve, this could be my future wife.” 

Steve let his head fall onto the desk.

“Clint she was like nineteen.” Tony said, though he didn’t sound nearly as indignant as he should have. 

“Legal age of consent, dude.” 

Yep, Steve was surrounded by teenagers. 

He shook his head and grabbed his bottle of water and swigging it down. As the light hit his wrist he saw a faint scar running from his elbow to his thumb. He winced and looked away. Six years ago he had been jumped by three guys when he was checking out a robbery…they beat the shit out of him and nearly killed him with a homemade shiv to his arm. When he woke up Tony was sitting there, frowning and railing about how fucking frail he was and it’s about damn time he got a body to match his personality. 

So he did. No one could say Steve didn’t have an addictive personality, which is why he stayed away from alcohol. But he was addicted to the gym and now his height was accompanied by a width that intimidated just about any man he met. Strangely he met a lot more women now too. 

“Barton!” 

All three men jumped to their feet, panic evident on their faces as Supervisor Coulson stormed up to Clint. Tony didn’t hide his grin when the yelling started. 

“I swear to God Barton you turn in blank paperwork one more time and I will kick your ass.” Coulson’s eyes were blue and hard, the lines around his face deepening with anger. He shoved a blank piece of paper with a little cartoon of an archer in the corner. “What are you, twelve?” 

Tony coughed. “We decided on fifteen, his libido is way too high for twelve.” 

Coulson didn’t stop staring at Clint but his lips twitched a little. 

“Barton do your damn job, and stop making mine a living hell.” He stormed off, his uniform spotless and his gait unhurried yet radiating anger. 

“He wants me.” Clint said, leaning against Steve’s desk with a lost look on his face.  
“Just because you want everything on two legs, Clint, doesn’t mean everyone else does.” Steve pointed out even though he knew he would be ignored. Again. 

“Tony don’t you need to do something…” Steve gestured to the interrogation room. Tony jumped and scurried over to his desk to grab a cup of coffee and a thin folder before composing himself and approaching the metal door of the room. Clint and Steve followed him, Clint playing with a paperclip as they went. 

Steve would be off shift in twenty minutes and he had finished all his paperwork for the day, he could be reorganizing his desk and preparing for tomorrow but he was intrigued. 

Clint flicked the paper clip over and hit the switch on the wall, activating the speakers so they could hear the two. 

Tony settled down in the metal chair across from the red headed girl. She had her arms crossed and her eyes were like hardened emeralds, Steve shifted uncomfortably. She was tiny yet terrifying. 

Tony set his mug on the table and cleared his throat. He tossed the folder on the table and rested his hand on it. “I’ve got your records right here. I can get all the information I need from here but I would prefer you to tell me yourself.” 

The girl smirked a little, her eyes losing the hard edge. “You don’t have shit on me.” 

He licked his lips and settled back into his chair, attempting to project relaxation. “I don’t?” 

She shook her head. “You don’t even know my name, and you have no reason to keep me here.” 

“Stark’s flailing.” Clint said, his arrogant smirk slipping as he studied the interaction. Clint may act like a teenager but he knew what he was doing, and he was damn good at it. 

“Fine.” Tony said softly, flicking the folder to her. “So tell me your name then.” 

She smiled then, full and genuine. “Fuck no.” her words were deadened. “You can’t make me do shit.” She stood to leave and Tony jerked his hand out and grabbed her wrist. 

“Before you do, I need you to look at something.” 

The girl must have been intrigued because she stopped and looked over at Tony, who was opening the folder. Inside was a few sparse pieces of paper with a mugshot paper clipped to the front. 

The girl looked at the photo, her face betrayed nothing but Steve watched her fingers tighten into a fist and her bottom lip sucked into her mouth. 

“Now, this woman was killed close to nine years ago. Prostitute, shot in the belly. Do you know her?” 

The girl swallowed, her thick tangled hair falling against her pale face. “Just because I’m a whore doesn’t mean I know everyone in the business.” She snapped, her cool façade gone now and her anger showing. 

“Of course, my apologies.” Tony answered with a strained smile. “We’ve just been trying to solve this woman’s murder for…well for a long damn time.” The girl jerked her head and looked to the two way mirror, looking for the two men she knew were standing there. 

Though Clint had only transferred two years ago, Steve and Tony had let him in on the murder case that had followed them both around. If you asked Tony he would say it was Steve’s personal battle and Tony only helped because they were bros. Bros helped bros out. If you asked Steve he would say Tony knew how important it was not to forget the ‘little’ or impossible cases. 

Clint had been invaluable after transferring from Vice, and they became more then  
coworkers. Even if Steve had a constant red mark on his forehead from slapping it in exasperation.

“How good of you.” The girl said in clipped hurried tones. She jerked her wrist from Tony’s grasp and jerked the door open, walking straight into the solid wall that was Steve. 

“Sorry Miss.” 

She groaned and held her hand to her chest, the finger she had broken having bent funny when she hit him. 

Steve grabbed her wrist, pulling it to his face to inspect the painful joint. “Let’s take care of this.” He said as he led her to his desk. He found her pliant and willing to follow him as he set her in the chair. Her skin was cool to the touch but it gave him a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach. She looked up at him from dusky eyelashes and he felt his cheeks reddened. Clint wasn’t wrong: she was beautiful. Her eyes, when unguarded, told a story that had Steve mesmerized.

Clint poked him in the side and set the first aid kit he’d brought down on the desk. He opened his mouth to speak when Coulson’s voice cut through the crowded precinct. 

“BARTON!” 

Clint shrugged. “He wants me.” He said with a sheepish grin as he trotted over to Coulson, who opened his office door then slammed it. The screen lowered as the yelling began.

Steve gently began straightening the digit and taping it up. “You want to tell me your name? I won’t put it on the record I just want something to call you…somehow the red-head-with-the-ball-shriveling-gaze just doesn’t roll off the tongue.” 

She laughed then, soft and quiet but very genuine. “Natasha.” She offered and somewhere deep down Steve knew it was her real name. 

“Russian?” he asked softly, wondering if he was prying too much. 

He watched her eyes close off and he nodded—too far. 

“I only ask because I’m working on a case and…well it centers around Russia quite a bit and I could use some help understanding some things.” 

“Wouldn’t know.” She answered quickly, relaxing a smidge. 

Steve stayed quiet and finished taping her finger to the one next to it. “Wouldn’t bother getting it x-rayed. Even if it is broken they’ll only tape it like this.” He held up his hands. “I box, so I break a lot of fingers.” 

He watched his grin soften Natasha and she looked down at her hand. “Feels better, thank you.” 

Steve reluctantly released her hand and sat back, leaning on the desk. He took a split second to decide before ripping off a piece of paper and scribbling his name, number, and address. He handed the paper to Natasha. “If you ever need anything—place to stay, warm meal, some handy medical know how you give me a call.”

He thought she might rip up the paper but she stuffed it in her jean jacket pocket. Natasha’s thanks was a smile that showed teeth and she stood, zipping up her jacket and heading out the glass door with her head down. 

Tony sidled up next to Steve. “There’s something about her.” Steve whispered, his eyes glued to the door. 

Tony glared at the back of Steve’s head. “Yeah.” He muttered turning to walk toward the bathroom. “If you need me I’ll be searching for my balls.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know nothing about Police Departments or how they are run, in case it isn't glaringly obvious by how this is written. 
> 
> I wrote Natasha as still being a little green about things. She's 19, and while very capable she hasn't learned how to be quite so deadly or achieved Black Widow status. Natasha is still fighting the whole dark side/light side thing. 
> 
> And I didn't know Tony was in love with Steve until halfway through this chapter when I had severe Stony feels and fangirled all over this. I'm not sorry.
> 
> Also, formatting might kill me. *dies in a heap*


	3. Conspiracy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve shuffled over to the door, straightening his shoulders and opening the door. A cold blast of wind shot through the open doorway and Steve cocked his head at the short, curvaceous woman bouncing around on scary heels. She had glitter gratuitously dumped all over her hair, face, and cleavage and she smelled like artificial peaches.  
> “Can I help you?”  
> “Are you Steve?” Darcy cut off Steve’s greeting.  
> Steve nodded. “I am.”  
> “I need you right the fuck now.” She screeched. “Get your coat…it’s…Natasha she’s been stabbed and she’s dying in an alleyway.”  
> Steve blinked at her word vomit and jerked his head back in surprise. “Natasha?”  
> “Yes Natasha.” She thrust the bloody piece of paper towards his chest. “You know petite red head with angry eyes who could freeze your soul in less than two seconds.”  
> Steve gaped at the paper in his hands, licking his lips and feeing the weight of the world come crashing down on his shoulders. When he’d given the petite girl his information he never thought he’d see her again, he just thought she might need someone to trust. But here was this blood stained piece of paper and all his thoughts came to a screeching halt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Violence, non consensual drug use, and terrifying stilletos.  
> I've actually never been stabbed before so this is all from quizzing my veterinarian mother about how she would handle it. So ya, do not treat someone for a knife wound based upon this fiction. I also wrote the majority of this chapter with a raging fever so I make no promises. I also suck at titles of chapters. 
> 
> Un-beta'd all mistakes are mine!  
> Comments, Kudos, and feedback DESIRED.

Natasha crouched behind the dumpster shadows draping over her body as she watched. To an outsider her bright green eyes would occasionally flash in the low street light.

  
A high pitched giggle erupted across the street and Natasha smirked a little. The busty brunette twirled a greasy curl between her fingers as she leaned into a thin balding man.

The man was actually being polite, staying out of Darcy’s personal space and asking about the city. He was a tourist apparently and Darcy was giving him the New York experience, deepening her voice to a Bronx accent and thickening her words.

  
Natasha rolled her eyes and felt the urge to tap her watch. Darcy was really laying it on and taking forever. She sighed and leaned back against the filthy dumpster, barely taking note of the grime rubbing off on her jacket.

  
“Wait…so you live in Kansas?” Darcy exclaimed loudly, slapping the man’s shoulder. Natasha was up in a flash, silently padding over behind the man. She flattened her hand and swiftly chopped the back of the man’s neck. He slumped forward and Darcy deftly stepped out of the way. The curvy girl could move quickly in her insanely high heels.  
Darcy stepped over the prone body and adjusted her tight leather skirt, yanking it down to its normal length rather than the ‘I need to eat dinner tonight so here’s some thigh whapow’ length.

  
“Took you long enough.” Natasha grumbled bending down and rifling through the man’s pockets. Darcy laughed and found the guys wallet, flipping it open and pulling out all of $75 dollars.

  
“God damn tourists.” Darcy mumbled, splitting the cash in half and handing Natasha $36 dollars. Natasha pocketed the cash in her jean pocket and continued poking through his pockets finding an Ipod, cell phone, and passport. She tossed the passport back at him.

  
“Oh Ipod!” Darcy grabbed for it and Natasha let it slide from her fingers easily. She didn’t want the thing anyway and Darcy had this weird fascination with the technology.  
Darcy picked up his wallet again and read his I.D. “Dude he really was for Kansas.” She giggled gleefully. “At least we gave him the ultimate New York experience. ‘I came to New York and all I got was mugged.’” She giggled at her own joke.

  
“Jesus you’re in a good mood.” Natasha said softly, her lips lifting in a slight smile at her friend’s enthusiasm.  
“I made enough tonight to get some epic potato soup from Johns, and download some new songs. What’s not to be happy about?”

  
Natasha shrugged and sat back, looking down into a puddle at her face. She was thin, too thin probably but it could be worse. Her hair was clean…ish tonight, hanging in thick curls around her shoulders. The natural cherry red of her hair caught the faded street lamps, her face pale and windblown. Her high European cheekbones popped out and her angular jaw gave way to her heritage that she tried to hide.

  
Despite attempting to act normal around Darcy, Natasha had a nagging feeling in her stomach. She couldn’t get that blonde cop out of her head. His bright icy blue eyes had haunted her dreams for the last two nights…he was so different than the other men Natasha dealt with. His touch didn’t repulse her like other people’s did, and she found the urge to cuddle with him almost irresistible.

  
Natasha has never once in her life cuddled. Or felt the urge to cuddle.

  
Darcy flicked Nat in the ear and glared at her from behind messy brown hair. “You’re brooding more than usual.”

  
“I got arrested two nights ago.”

  
Darcy jerked her head up and narrowed her blue eyes. “That’s unlike you.”

  
Natasha waved her hand toward Darcy. “Circumstances.”

  
A thin brown eyebrow shot up and she opened her mouth to start talking but Natasha stood. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and she felt a presence behind her.  
“Darcy…” she began before she was grabbed from behind. Her concern for her relatively defenseless friend had left her open for attack.

  
Another man grabbed Darcy and that’s all Natasha needed to see. She swung her elbow toward her assailants face and then brought her foot up in a mule kick. The man, Natasha could tell he was a man judging by the thick barrel chest pushed against her back, fell backwards with a yelp of pain. Before Natasha could launch at Darby’s attacker a third and fourth man tackled Natasha and they all fell in a heap of limbs.

  
“Nat!” Darcy called out.

  
One man sat on her legs and the other sat on her chest, pinning her hands to either side of her head. Natasha screamed as loud as she could as she felt yet another unseen assailant rip her sleeve open.

  
Natasha briefly thought that of all the articles of clothing that would be ripped off her body her jean jacket sleeve was the last thing she would have guessed.  
Nat had been raped before, it wasn’t all that uncommon. It was only twice but both times she dragged her beaten form to Darcy and they raged against men and drank stolen wine and Darcy flashed the pizza boy and they got free pizza and didn’t leave Darcy’s place for two days before they’d forget about the incident.  
It’s the way it works for street girls.

  
“Get off her!” Natasha screamed. She hadn’t realized that she’d screamed it in Russian until the words rippled off her tongue, foreign and yet achingly familiar.  
In the middle of her tossing and flinging her limbs against the men on her she felt a prick in her arm, on the soft flesh by her elbow. She almost didn’t notice, the weight of the man on her chest was crushing her and she could almost hear her ribs creak and groan under the pressure. Nervous sweat trickled down her back, and her jacket rode up she could feel the asphalt ripping the skin of her back apart but it didn’t matter. Her right leg got free and the heel of her stolen stilettos slammed into an assailant’s neck, blood trickling over her toes.

  
A moment later the weight was gone and she could feel the fire licking through her veins. “The Spider sends his regards.” A thick Russian accent whispered against her ear, his breath moist and smelling of potatoes. Then there was a flash of white hot pain in her belly and then a twisting sensation that rippled along her flesh and she cried out.  
Then the men were gone and Natasha was exhausted and sore, lying on the pavement and fighting tears. She hadn’t cried since she was eight years old.

  
“Nat! Nat! Holy shit.” Darcy ran up to her and fell to her knees, hands hovering over Natasha’s abdomen. “Jesus Christ in spandex.” Her hands suddenly gripped Nat’s coat and she began tugging.

  
Nat managed to push herself up and look down her body. A black hilt was protruding from the soft flesh of her belly, but she couldn’t feel it. The street lights were dancing around above her and she felt like she was floating.

  
“Nat!” Darcy whined, thick tears sliding down a heart shaped face. “I don’t know what to do…this is your thing. Tell me what to do Nat!” she was begging and gross sobbing.  
“Darce…” she moaned lifting a hand that felt like it was weighted down with steel and reached into her pocket, pulling out the blood stained piece of paper.  
“St…Steve Rogers?” Darcy asked, squinting to read the scribble on the paper in the dim light.

  
Natasha attempted to nod but her eyes were dilated and her tongue felt thick. “Nat, okay Nat I’m going to run as fast as I can and get this dude and be back and you have to promise me not to die. Stay away from the light, you Russian bitch.” She shrieked, sliding her hands under Natasha’s armpits and dragging her thin frame behind the dumpster. She didn’t want someone to find her like this and take advantage. She found an old blanket and draped it over the thin red headed girl.  
Darcy took off and used her lifetime of street smarts to go find this Steve Rogers.

 

“What! I am the champion!” Clint crowed, standing on his folding chair and holding the cards above his head.

  
“No, you’re a cheating bastard.” Tony growled, throwing his cards down on the folding table. He turned to Steve. “Why can’t we play at my apartment? I have a legit card table with cup holders. Cup holder’s man.”

  
“Your apartment terrifies Steve.” Clint responded flopping back down onto his chair and folding his hands behind his blonde hair.

  
“It doesn’t terrify me, it’s just…really big.”

  
Tony made a squeaky noise. “It’s not that big!”

  
Clint and Steve gave him similar glances of annoyance. “Tony its two penthouse apartments put together…like…a penthouse oreo.”  
Clint guffawed and chugged some of his beer. “You live in a cookie dude. Wait! Do you have elves?!”

  
“Clint you’re drunk.” Steve said, gently taking his beer away and making a trip to the kitchen.

  
“Bad Steve! Clint’s more fun when he’s drunk.” Tony moaned, picking up a few more dishes and following Steve into the kitchen. They deposited the dishes in the sink and Tony turned to Steve. “Are you really afraid of my apartment?”

  
Steve laughed and filled a glass with water from the tap for Clint. “No Tony, nothing about you terrifies me.” He chuckled and nudged Tony with his shoulder. “It’s just…far away.” Steve hedged.

  
Tony glared at him, but his eyes were soft and his mouth was quirked upward under his goatee. “C’mon Tony. You’re my bro.” he said with a laugh, tossing an arm around the shorter mans shoulders.

  
“Stop hanging out with Clint.” Tony said with a laughing, leaning into Steve a little more than was necessary. A bystander might say he was inhaling Steve, but that’s a lie. Just because Steve smelled like oak wood and America doesn’t mean Tony took every opportunity to smell him…that’s just weird.

  
Clint shuffled into the kitchen, despite being drunk he was still light on his feet and agile. He spotted the water and made a noise somewhere between a hawk and a cat, grabbing the glass and chugging it.

  
“Phil took me on a date.”

  
Steve jerked and almost fell on top of Tony. “What?”

  
“Who’s Phil?” Tony asked.

  
Clint leaned against the bar and rubbed his face with his wet hand, laying the cold glass against his forehead. “Coulson. Phil Coulson took me on a date and then held my hand.”  
“Coulson?” Tony screeched. “Our boss? The scariest man alive? The guy who can kill you with paperclip.”

  
Clint nodded and suddenly seemed sober. “I really like him, guys.”

  
“What the fuckery? What is this blasphemy?” Tony was still screeching but Steve ignored him.

  
“I’m happy for you Clint. You make a cute couple.”

  
Clint blushed and nodded, playing with the earring in his right ear.

  
“Am I the only one having a problem with this?” Tony demanded.

  
Steve and Clint answered at the same time. “Yes.”

  
Tony opened his mouth to continue yowling and screeching protestation when the doorbell rang.

  
“Steve you don’t have any other friends.” Clint pointed out and Tony cuffed him behind the head in Steve’s defense.

  
Steve shuffled over to the door, straightening his shoulders and opening the door. A cold blast of wind shot through the open doorway and Steve cocked his head at the short, curvaceous woman bouncing around on scary heels. She had glitter gratuitously dumped all over her hair, face, and cleavage and she smelled like artificial peaches.

  
“Can I help you?”

  
“Are you Steve?” Darcy cut off Steve’s greeting.

  
Steve nodded. “I am.”

  
“I need you right the fuck now.” She screeched. “Get your coat…it’s…Natasha she’s been stabbed and she’s dying in an alleyway.”

  
Steve blinked at her word vomit and jerked his head back in surprise. “Natasha?”

  
“Yes Natasha.” She thrust the bloody piece of paper towards his chest. “You know petite red head with angry eyes who could freeze your soul in less than two seconds.”

  
Steve gaped at the paper in his hands, licking his lips and feeing the weight of the world come crashing down on his shoulders. When he’d given the petite girl his information he never thought he’d see her again, he just thought she might need someone to trust. But here was this blood stained piece of paper and all his thoughts came to a screeching halt.  
“Tony! Clint!” he used his Officer Steve voice and the two came scrambling toward him.

  
He quickly explained what happened while he yanked on his jacket. “Call Banner!” he screamed as he followed Darcy down the steps leaving the small ground floor apartment door wide open as they tore down the street.

The first thing Steve saw was a pair of ankle boots, covered in blood illuminated by a shaft of light. She was covered in a blood soaked blanket and her skin was deathly pale. The memory of her face had been etched into his memory and seeing her like this, lackluster and half dead made his lungs contract. He knelt down beside her and ripped the blanket off.

  
“Forget Banner…she needs a hospital.” He said as he noted the blade in her belly.

  
“No, no way. No hospitals. That’s…just no.” Darcy said shaking her head violently.

  
Steve panicked and decided to leave the knife where it was, embedded in her belly. Removing it might cause her to bleed out faster so he stuck his arms under her knees and supported her back and lifted her up gingerly. Natasha moaned and her head lolled back, exposing her pale neck. Darcy covered her with her jacket so bystanders wouldn’t see the blood.

  
Natasha weighed nothing and Steve was strong. He did this embarrassing, thank God Tony wasn’t here, half jog half speed walk while carrying her back towards his apartment.  
He burst through the door and Tony and Clint squawked a little and hovered around him as he placed her on the couch.

  
Bruce jogged in with his thick black medical bag, kneeling by the couch he ripped the blanket off. “Shit Steve she needs a hospital.”

  
“No hospitals!” Darcy shrieked again, getting more and more desperate.

  
“Look I can’t…she probably needs surgery and…Jesus.” Bruce popped out his little doctor flashlight and shined it in her dilated eyes. “What did she take?” he demanded.

  
Darcy roughly wiped a tear from her eye. “I don’t know. The guys who jumped us pinned her down and injected something. Nat doesn’t do drugs…ever.” She seemed desperate to get that part out.

  
Bruce licked his lips and took a deep breath. “I don’t…Jesus.” He swore again. Steve looked at Tony and Clint and they all knew it was bad, Bruce just didn’t swear.

  
“Bruce she won’t want to be taken to a hospital. Please. You’re the best doctor I know and you’ve worked in worse conditions than this.”

  
Bruce hummed and reached into his bag and without looking he pulled out two latex gloves and snapped them on. “Clint cut her shirt.” He demanded and Clint, despite being drunk 30 minutes ago, picked up the scissors and confidently cut the thin material away from her midsection.

  
Her pale skin was stained with blood, some of the thick crimson running off her skin and soaking the couch beneath her. Steve would worry about that later, if ever.  
“I don’t want to give her anything for pain because I don’t know what she’s taken.”

  
“She didn’t take anything!” Darcy cried out. “Nat doesn’t do drugs. She refuses.” She said it again, nervously.

  
Tony used his thumb to gently pry her eyelids open. “She seems pretty out.”

  
Bruce nodded. “Whatever they gave her was some kind of downer, that with the shock of the stab wound and she’s pretty out of it.”

  
Natasha moaned and licked her lips. Her face was covered in a sheen of sweat and her lips were pale and dry. Natasha’s eyes were dilated under her heavy lids.  
“Judging by the location of the blade I’d say it probably didn’t hit anything vital but I won’t know anything until I get that blade out.”

  
Clint retreated to the kitchen, because apparently Clint was the only one actually paying attention, and brought back several Ziploc baggies. He tossed her shirt into one and some of the gauze Bruce used into another. Bruce withdrew some blood from the vein that hadn’t been injected and Clint placed that into a baggy too. Clint was a cop, first and foremost.

  
Natasha’s breathing was getting shallower, her chest heaving. Her lacy black bra would have been distracting if it hadn’t been for the blood slowly seeping from the knife in her belly.

  
Quietly and with a steadiness that was developed from years of working in stressful situations, Bruce wrapped his latex clad fingers around the black hilt of the knife and smoothly withdrew it. Natasha gasped and arched up, Steve instantly grabbing her shoulders and Tony grabbing her lethal legs.

  
Clint grabbed the knife from Bruce and dropped it into the plastic baggy while Darcy twined her fingers through Natasha’s for support.

  
Quickly Bruce mopped up the spilling blood. “Doesn’t look like it hit any vital organs, so I’m going to stitch this up.” Tony looked away out the window he much preferred engines and parts to blood and guts. Steve watched Natasha’s twitching face and slowly stroked the hair from her eyes.

  
Clint examined the blade, because he had a fascination with pointy things that could be thrown through the air. It was just easier not to ask him.

  
“Should I call Phil?”

  
“Oh so it’s Phil now?” Tony snarked.

  
Clint gave him a patented smirk. “Once you gotten to second base with a guy you can use his first name.”

  
Tony pretended to vomit. “Is second base the same with guys as it is for girls?”

  
Clint grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “Can’t say I could answer that but it involves a lot of—”

  
“Some of us are working.” Bruce said quietly, and yet it was still terrifying.

  
Steve smiled and vowed to work on that kind of scariness.

  
“All done.” Bruce said, placing a big white piece of gauze over the ugly red area with stitches. “She’s going to need a lot of rest and fluids to recover. She should be feeling fine in the next few days as far as the knife wound…as far as the drugs I have no idea.” Bruce seemed unsettled with not knowing what to do with a patient.

  
“Does she have somewhere she can go?” Bruce asked the teary Darcy.

  
“Uhm yeah, she can crash at my place. It’s not too cold this time of year.”

  
Bruce blanched and was trying to find a nice way of saying ‘hell to the fuck no’.

  
Steve interrupted. “She can stay here, Darcy you can too. I don’t mind.”

  
Darcy gave him a harsh look and Steve held up a hand to settle her. “It’s got two bedrooms and it’s far too big for me, my grandma Peggy left it to me in her will.”  
Darcy licked her lips. “Hey uhm. I don’t think…living with a cop? Pass.” She said softly.

  
Tony smiled and gently put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “Why don’t you go with me to get her some stuff? Medical junk and clothes.” Darcy nodded and Tony asked Bruce for a list of things she might need to recover.

  
Steve and Clint went to the guest bedroom to get it ready. The room was rarely used with the exception of Clint or Tony occasionally staying over when their poker nights went a little long.

  
The room was painted a khaki color with a double bed and dresser. Steve never bothered to decorate it. The sheets were clean though.  
Clint pulled down the sheets and Steve grabbed a thick comforter out of the closet.

  
“You sure you know what you’re doing, Steve?” Clint asked. Anyone who saw Clint might think he was just a good looking guy who liked to work out too much, but that was a carefully sculpted façade. Clint liked not being noticed, he enjoyed watching and not being seen. In reality, in a reality that not many people saw, Clint was a fastidious and intelligent person who could shoot the wings off a fly in a nanosecond. There wasn’t much Clint Barton didn’t see.

  
“Honestly? No idea. I just feel so drawn to this girl. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her since that day at the station.”

  
Clint quirked an eyebrow. “Have you told Tony this?”

  
Steve blinked and watched Clint. “Why would I tell Tony? I don’t even know what’s going on.”

  
“Oh, no reason.” Clint walked toward the door and stepped out into the hallway. “I’m going to enjoy watching this explode.”

  
“Wait, what? Watch what explode?”

  
“Hawkeye sees! Hawkeye knows!” Clint cackled as he walked back towards the living room.

  
“Hawkeye’s an idiot!” Steve called back, feeling lame for not thinking of something more creative.

 

Thirty minutes later Tony returned with a bag from the local pharmacy. They’d found a baggy shirt, sweats, soaps, and medical supplies Bruce insisted upon. Darcy darted out the door as soon as Tony arrived and Clint followed, saying he’d tell Phil about Steve taking off tomorrow.

  
Steve gingerly picked Natasha up off the couch and carried her to the bedroom. She seemed lighter than before, her head resting on Steve’s shoulders. She still wasn’t wearing a shirt but it didn’t seem to matter. Steve set Natasha down on the mattress and slipped her shoes off, placing them on the floor beside the dresser. Tony pulled the blankets up to her chin.

  
“Should we take her bra off?” Tony asked, trying to keep his voice clinical.

  
Steve blushed and Tony reached up and squeezed his shoulder fondly. “Forget it, she’s fine. Let’s go.”

  
They retreated to the living room and stared down at the bloody couch. It was thoroughly trashed with bits of gauze littered. Clint had taken his supply of Ziploc baggies with him like a squirrel with his nuts.

  
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Tony asked, his brown eyes soft.

  
Steve nodded. “Yeah, sure. She’s like what? Ninety pounds? I think I can take her.” He laughed but they both knew he was uncomfortable.

  
“I can stay if you want Steve.”

  
“Nah, go back to your place. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  
Tony wrapped a warm hand around the back of Steve’s neck and squeezed. “Just a phone call away. I’d say text but you’re such an old man.”

  
They laughed and Steve locked the door behind him and leaned his head against the wood door. He couldn’t believe he’d just witnessed his friend stitch up a prostitute on his couch. A prostitute he couldn’t seem to get out of his head, one with penetrating green eyes and soft red hair. Something about her just pulled at him, like his soul was screaming at him to listen to something but he didn’t know what. Steve was definitely not okay.

  
“Damn.”


	4. Turn Around and Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha wakes up. Steve figures out what boning means. Tony squeaks and runs away. And Natasha makes a decision about how she's going to live her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to get up, not that many of you are actually out there reading this...but anyway I just got a new job and it's kicking my ass. 
> 
> Also, I wrote the end of this with my cat laying on my face so there's probably more mistakes than there should be. This chapter kicked my ass anyway. 
> 
> So this was written mostly in Steve's POV, the next chapter will be Natasha-rific and some Stony feels. 
> 
> PLEASE COMMENT. I FEEL SO ALONE.

Natasha opened her eyes and felt warm, really warm and comfortable for the first time in a long time. The ceiling above her was painted white and the walls leading up to it were a pale blue. She took a brief moment to take stock of where she was before her physical condition: the room was clean but not sterile, warm and comfortable. The blinds on the window were parted and she could see flurries of snow swirling outside the glass. 

When she craned her head to get an idea of her location a spasm of pain rocketed up her spine. She cried aloud and curled into a little ball biting her lower lip. Gingerly she slid her and down her bare stomach and felt the gauze bandage wrapped around her belly. 

Natasha was greeted with a shock of memories—the ripping pain of a knife stabbing into her flesh and twisting, the fuzzy image of strappy high heels running away from her, and a solid strength picking her up and carrying her gently caressing her and tucking her into bed. 

Steve.

With a deep breath she jerked the warm comforter off and twisted until her legs were dangling off the bed. There was a glass of water and a packet of pills on the dresser. Natasha grabbed the glass and chugged half the glass, and looked at the pills. They looked basic, and she trusted Steve, but she swept them up and slid them under the mattress. She finished the glass and braced herself for standing up. Hyperventilating seemed to help with the pain and she walked over to the dresser as she quickly filled her lungs with air. 

A plastic bag sat on top of the dresser with a red pharmacy logo. Inside she found a sweat shirt and sweat pants, a razor, and bandage materials. She swiped the bag and quietly opened the door. The pain had dulled now and she could walk and stand slightly upright without pain. She stuck her head out the door and checked the short hallway: it was clear. 

A cursory glance around told her the bathroom was right ahead of her so she shuffled inside the room and felt infinitely better once the door was locked behind her. 

Natasha dropped the bag on the counter and looked at herself in the mirror. Her long hair was in tangles around her head and her belly looked like a Pollock painting with the dried blood. The gauze bandage was a stark reminder of the pain and she pried it off quickly to assess the damage. The stitches were black against the angry red raised two inch scar. 

She probed it and found that it was sensitive but not overly painful. Despite the dull throbbing ache it didn’t hurt too bad, and honestly she had suffered much worse before. Whatever they injected her with didn’t seem to have much effect on her despite some mild fuzziness. 

Out of the bag she pulled a razor and found a towel in the closet behind her. She stripped off her blood soaked bra and panties tossing them into the sink, filling it with cold water to soak. 

The shower felt amazing, the warm water pummeling her shoulders and scalp. She tried to avoid her injury and only winced twice while scrubbing her hair—the soap smelled like Steve, her olfactory senses triggering a deep memory of him leaning over her hand and bandaging her finger and then of him carrying her to safety. 

His smell circling her senses gave her a sense of calm and she finished her shower feeling a great deal more relaxed than before. 

The sweats were three sizes too large but they were soft and warm, gently hugging her and making her want to take a nap. Before opening the bathroom door and stepping out into the hallway she took a deep breath and pocketed the razor…she could always use it as a weapon until she found something better. 

 

Steve cradled the phone against his shoulder as he stirred his oatmeal. “Wait…so you’re saying this was a mob hit?” 

He could hear Clint clicking and typing on the other side. “Yeah. That stuff she was injected with? A very mild dose of what the Spider peddles.”

“Mild?” Steve asked as he tipped some cinnamon over the bowl. 

“This shit was so mild it was basically water…probably just enough to keep her from feeling the majority of the stab wound.” 

Steve dropped his spoon and stared out his kitchen window. “So you’re saying they weren’t trying to kill her, or even hurt her. They were what? Sending a message?” 

He could hear Clint’s shrug. “Who the fuck knows why they do what they do. But I think your girl has some explaining to do, the Spider might be bat shit insane but he doesn’t do shit like this for a reason.” 

Steve took a few bites and contemplated for a long moment. “I’ll ask her when she wakes up, I guess.” He said, burning with curiosity and a little bit of rage as he remembered the way her head lolled against his shoulder and her small moans of pain. 

Clint was silent for a long second, the sound of typing silenced. “Remember her reaction to that dead hooker Tony showed her?” 

Steve did and he set his breakfast down and wandered over to his home desk, pulling open a drawer and removing the file on Natalie Romanoff. He flicked it open and scanned the pictures and information he looked at frequently enough to have memorized. 

“She freaked. It was the first time her attitude slipped. She knows something there, Steve?” 

Steve heard Tony’s voice across the phone and there was a shuffling and a thud followed by a “Fuck you Stark!” 

“Yo Steve, you good?” Tony asked, his words light but his voice conveyed a deeper sentiment. 

“Yeah Tony, I’m good. She’s still…” he trailed off as he heard the shower start. “She’s showering.” 

Tony was quiet for a moment. “Clint thinks Natasha knows about the missing kid.” Steve rolled his eyes at Clint shouting past Tony so he could be heard by Steve. 

Steve pushed the photos of Natalie Romanoff to the side and looked at the picture of the missing kid. Something clicked inside of him and he slapped the folder shut. “I…I think she is the missing kid.” 

There was silence on the other line and Steve could hear some more background noise so Clint had forced Tony to put it on speaker phone. “That…would make sense.” 

“I showed her photos of her dead mother…” the grimace in Tony’s voice was obvious. 

“Tones she was there when her mother was killed, she’s seen worse.” Clint’s voice was soft and comforting. 

“Natasha is Spider’s daughter…and the stabbing was a message.” Steve said slowly. 

“Spider knows where she is, and he wants her back.” Clint finished. 

There was heavy breathing and Tony’s voice came through strong. “Steve you’ve got to be careful. This guy will have no problem offing you to get to her…no problem at all.” 

“Jesus Christ Stark!” Clint muttered and jerked the phone back. “He’s going to kill me with this cord…no Tony there is nothing wrong with cord phones….STOP BITCHING…..fine go invent something!” Clint grumbled. “Okay, he stormed off like a little girl. But he’s right, Steve. This is no joke. You gotta get some answers from the girl but…be gentle. We got no idea what’s happening in her noggin.” 

Steve nodded. “Okay.” 

Clint sighed. “Coulson is yelling for me, I’ll fill him in on what’s going on okay? Be careful.”

Steve hung up the phone and tossed it on his desk, leaning back in his stiff office chair. He cracked his knuckles and wished he could go to the gym to beat out his frustrations, but he didn’t want Natasha to wake up alone. 

Despite the baggage she apparently came with Steve couldn’t help but wonder about her and where she came from…and feel this strange draw to her. Steve had crushed on girls before, and even thought he was in love once. But it was never real…but he’d never felt like this before. Infatuation? Was he obsessed with Natasha Romanoff? Did he really have feelings for her? 

“Thinking awful hard for Eight am.” 

Steve spun around at the feminine voice filtering through his apartment. Natasha was standing by the couch her thin frame swamped in baggy sweat clothes. Her hair was wet and curling around her face, a darker shade then when it was dry. She looked vulnerable and scared, though her face betrayed nothing. 

“Just…trying to get information on your attackers.” He decided not to lie, not completely. 

She shrugged then winced a little, her hand coming to her belly to hold the wound. “Don’t stress out about it. It was just random.” 

Steve sighed and carded his hands through his hair. “Breakfast?” he asked as he stood and walked into the kitchen. He didn’t hear her but he could feel her presence as she stealthily followed him. He gestured for her to sit at the bar and she lowered herself onto a stool. Steve only had oatmeal and apples in the house so he made her that and slid it over to her. She took the spoon and began eating quietly. 

“Natasha I don’t think it was random.” 

She didn’t pause in her eating or indicate that she had heard him. 

Steve retreated back to his desk and grabbed the folder. She looked up, her bright green eyes boiling a little when she glanced down at it. Natasha did not move to open the folder so Steve began to open it. 

Natasha’s hand slammed down onto his and Steve made a very manly squeak. 

“Steve don’t. There’s a lot of shit I put behind me do not drag it up.”

Steve sighed and patted her hand. “Nat…we can’t just ignore this. If we can put this guy away--”

“That guy is my father, Steve. He is also spawned from hell. I’ve tried very hard to keep that part of me tucked away and you bringing it up is not helping.” 

Steve relaxed and stepped away from her grip. “Okay, fair enough.” Steve said, taking a seat beside Natasha. 

He wasn’t going to let it go, not by a long shot but he would take his time and try to get her to open up. 

Getting Natasha to open up turned out to be harder than originally thought. She had spent two weeks in Steve’s apartment, getting checkups from Bruce twice in that time. Clint and Tony came over frequently to talk about the case, though they did so in hushed tones while Natasha slept. Clint and Natasha became very close in that time, curling up around each other on the couch while they watched movies Tony brought over. Tony and Steve would sit at the ‘poker’ table and talk about Natasha, the case, and everything in between. 

It was a strange how their little group worked, but it did work. Steve found himself very happy, strangely enough, and growing closer to his two best friends and the strange Russian hooker they’d adopted. 

When Clint and Steve weren’t around, Steve and Natasha built up a tentative bond. She started off talking about her life on the streets and her friendships, it was like pouring molasses on a cold day getting her to talk but eventually she trusted Steve. She often fell asleep resting against Steve’s shoulder, seeping in his warmth.

Natasha was clinically organized and secretive, but she was not an early riser--tripping her way into the kitchen around noon most days. Steve didn’t mind cooking her breakfast and he got this strange thrill watching her get a good meal. She’d gained some weight in her time with Steve, and she was healed enough to walk without pain. Steve started going back to work, coming home to find Natasha humming along to the latest hits and finding her way around his kitchen. He liked coming home to someone, but something nagged at him. Try as he might Steve couldn’t quite describe his relationship with Natasha, it was closer to a brother and sister type of relationship. 

After a few beers Steve made the mistake of asking for Clint’s advice. 

“Steve this is easy.” Clint said with a laugh, taking another sip of beer. “Do you want to bone her?”   
“…bone her?” Steve asked a horrified blush sliding up his cheeks. 

Clint fell out of his chair laughing. “Do you have the desire to have sex with Natasha?” he said each word slowly drawing it out. 

Steve took a long time to think his question out. Did he want to have sex with Natasha? Steve didn’t spend a whole lot of time thinking about having sex with people…but he did have the desires, most of the time he blushed furiously and tried not to act them out. And none of those desires involved Natasha. 

So, Steve figured out he did not want to bone Natasha. 

He also figured out he didn’t want to bone any woman, ever. Clint helped him with that too. Clint informed Steve that he was probably gay, and gave him several tests. Steve didn’t enjoy any of the porn Clint sent and decided to explore some on his own…men having sex with other men made him harder than a rock. 

“So you’re gay?” Steve asked Clint after he had figured himself out. 

Clint laughed and shrugged. “Well…I like people. I guess that’s the easiest way to describe it. Right now I happen to really like Phil.” Clint blushed. 

Steve smiled. He had never seen Clint blush before and he knew it must be serious. “You know, I think you’re both good for each other.” 

Phil was still a hard ass, screeching at everyone at the Precinct like he usually did. But he was constantly smiling when he thought no one was looking and Tony swore he saw Phil smack Clint’s ass but Tony was prone to exaggeration.

Steve finally worked up the courage to tell Tony a few days after he had his first wanking session to gay porn. Tony made an odd squeaking noise and said he had to work on one of his ancient Mustangs. 

Natasha watched the exchange with a small smirk, turning to wink at Clint. Clint patted Steve on the shoulder. “Hawkeye sees.” 

 

Three days later Clint and Steve were hiding behind car as bullets whizzed through the air. Clint hugged his pistol to his chest and yelled into his radio, requesting backup. Steve twisted and began firing, a little blindly. Three perps were behind their own car, squeezing the finger light triggers of their AK-47’s and peppering the blue Honda Steve was crouching behind. 

Clint swiveled and began shooting slowly and deliberately, one bullet hit its mark and blew the brains out of the men shooting at them. 

A bullet grazed by Steve shoulder and he winced at the sudden sharp pain, but continued laying down a suppressing fire. 

Ten minutes later the Calvary came peeling into the street, led by a pale Tony. When the men were in custody Tony dragged Steve to the medic who simply bandaged the minor graze. 

“Tony will you stop pacing.” 

Tony glared at Steve, who was sitting on the back of an ambulance as the medic cleared him. “You were bleeding. Bleeding is bad, Steve.” 

Steve rolled his eyes and righted his shirt. “Tony I got three days medical leave for a tiny scratch, everyone is blowing this out of proportion.” 

Tony personally escorted Steve back to his apartment where Natasha swooped on him. 

“Who was it?” she asked as she forcibly pushed Steve onto the couch and placed a bag of ice over his cut. 

Steve sighed and held an inner debate for a moment before breathing out. “Clint positively identified one of the gunmen as one of the Spiders right hand men.” 

Natasha froze, her muscles stiffening. “Have you been going after the Spider?” she asked sitting on the coffee table. 

Steve nodded. “For close to a year. We’re getting close…probably why he ordered the hit on Clint and me.” 

Natasha nodded and stood up wandering over to Steve’s desk behind the couch. “Steve…you should have stayed out of it. Left everything alone. I should have left you too. I put you in danger.” She sighed. 

Steve was about to open his mouth when a hard pressure clamped around his throat. He struggled to breath and swung his arms up, feeling Natasha behind him putting the choke hold on him. 

“Steve I’m so sorry, this is my fault. I’m going to make this right for all of us, keep you safe. You deserve to be happy with Tony.” She said softly as Steve’s vision faded out. He wanted to hit her, jerk her off of him but he couldn’t hit her…it was Natasha! No matter how strong she pretended to be, she was still wounded and fragile. 

Steve made up his mind to fuck how fragile Natasha was when he collapsed to the floor, his vision tunneling out. 

The last thing he saw was Natasha’s red head pulling Steve’s Police Issued gun from his safe and her running from the apartment.


	5. Where my Demons Hide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha embraces her dark side and finds her father, will she be able to lock it away again or will it consume her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AGH! So apparently writing dark stuff is a lot easier and more enjoyable (lets not analyze that too closely shall we?) for me. I don't even know. 
> 
> So this is like...THE CHAPTER. The one where Natasha embraces the other half of herself. I kinda see this taking place before Clint spares The Black Widow and she comes to work for SHIELD. Before Natasha has a light side, then she embraces her dark side and goes rogue, and then finally she accepts both and becomes the bamf! we all know and love. 
> 
> When did this Stony fic become a Natasha's inner demon fic with a hello side of Stony and Phlint?
> 
> Like I said, I have no idea what I'm doing and if your still reading this then have a mouse. Just don't give him a cookie because you know how that ends.

I want to hide the truth  
I want to shelter you  
But with the beast inside  
There’s nowhere we can hide  
\--"Demon" by Imagine Dragons

 

Rain splattered onto the streets violently, little rivers sliding along the curb carrying pieces of trash into the sewers. A slim red headed woman streaked along the wet sidewalk, her hair curling and plastered to her pale skin. The baggy sweat pants she wore hung low on her hips, her sweatshirt slipping to expose a bony clavicle. 

Natasha ran. And ran. Desperation hung around her like smoke surrounds a cigarette. People instinctively moved to avoid her as she flung her body around pedestrians. If the desperation around her didn’t give people pause then her bare footedness did. 

Tears mixed in with the rain pouring down her cheeks, she gasped and tried to fill her hysterical lungs. Finally her legs stopped and she flung herself into an alleyway, curling around her body and resting her head against a dumpster. The cold metal of the gun bit into her lower back hidden by the baggy clothes she wore. 

Natasha didn’t like crying—she never saw the point in it. But watching Steve, her closest friend, collapse to the ground from something she did tore at her heart. She didn’t even know she could do such a thing! Where had it come from? 

Don’t let the dark side win, my Spider. 

Her father did this to her. The violence, the pain, all the red from her past came from her father. Natasha’s mother used her dying breath to warn her away from the dark side…away from her father. And quick as a flash the dark side wrapped itself around her and she used it…used it like the weapon it was. 

She lifted her hands up and watched as they shook like leaves in the wind. Natasha bit the inside of her cheek until it bled, her tears slowly petering off as the blood filled her mouth. Her throat constricted as she swallowed and lowered her hand. Before she knew what she was doing she pulled the gun from the waistband of her sweat pants and held it up in the overcast light. 

Natasha’s father would never leave Steve and the others alone. He would search and search until he found them and then he would kill them horribly. Natasha’s knuckles whitened around the hilt of her weapon and she licked her lips. The only way to stop her father was to put a bullet, or six, into his brain. 

The only way to protect Steve was to kill her father. 

And to kill her father Natasha would have to let the dark side win, let the darkness fill her up and control her actions. 

Natasha slid the gun back into her waist band and looked at the street. Her eyes had darkened—the green depths swirling with hatred. Slowly she stood throwing her shoulders back and looking out into the streets. 

 

Because Natasha’s father was cliché as fuck he kept his offices in a warehouse by the docks. The dilapidated building kept the curious away and was easy to monitor. As she travelled towards the dock she passed by a butchers shop—without hesitation she slipped the knife from the butcher as he took a smoke break out front. The knife joined the gun in her waistband. Every muscle in her body twitched with electricity—Natasha felt alive. Whatever she let in, after all those years of holding it back, was happy to be out. 

By the time she reached the docks, the wood creaking under her dirty bare feet, evening had settled and the rain had only increased. Her clothes clinging to her thin frame Natasha plodded up to Warehouse 5. Two men were guarding the door, their guns held loosely in their hands. Before they even opened their mouths to call out to her Natasha had the ones neck in the crook of her elbow. With her fingers around his ear she twisted, listening to his neck snap almost silently. The second man was silenced by her bare foot slamming into his groin. Her fingers caught in his hair and pulled his face into her knee, breaking his nose and cheek. Natasha tossed him aside flicking the blood off her fingers as she stepped through the wide door. 

Her hair was dancing around her face, impeding her vision as she stepped into the dark depths of the warehouse. Lights hung from the ceiling in intervals, leaving only splotches of light on the floor and the rest in darkness. Something told Natasha that he knew she was here so she made her way towards the back of the ware house letting the light flash over her features. 

“So, my daughter had finally come to me.” 

The thick Russian accent cut through the cavernous space, echoing around. Natasha felt a thrill creep up her spine.

He was standing in a circle of light his arms hung loosely by his sides and a small smirk crawling across his face. His deep chestnut colored hair was flaked with grey, though it only served to make him look more dignified. He wasn’t a tall man, but he was lean and strafed with muscle. The angular cheek bones and facial features gave way to his Russian heritage—a mirror image to Natasha’s.

Natasha was silent, but it seemed he had no problem remedying the silence. 

“My dear girl, you are the image of your mother. Pretty as a picture.” His smirk deepened and he took a step forward so they were standing in the same pool of light. 

“But you have my spirit.” 

Natasha pulled the gun from her back and levelled it at the man, at her father. The light glinted off the grey metal as she held the weapon steady in her hand.   
“I do have your spirit, but I have my mother’s heart. You will die for what you did to her, and for what you’ve done to me.” 

His smirk fell and he held out his hands to her. “Natasha, my child. Don’t you see? Together you and I will create an empire, one that will rival Genghis Khan and Julius Caesar.” 

It was Natasha’s turn to smirk. “You and I may share blood, but we do not share the same goals.” She cocked the gun, her thumb depressing the lock easily. 

He tsked and spread his arms again. “Don’t you want a father, my daughter? Don’t you want the love and security I can offer you?” 

Natasha paused as her heart skipped a beat. The gun wavered, just for a moment and that was all he needed. His lithe frame easily crossed the space between them and tackled Natasha to the ground. Natasha’s head connected with a sharp thud and she saw stars as the gun was ripped from her hand. Without thinking Natasha kicked up a leg and wrapped her thighs around his neck, squeezing and flipping them both over. 

“The only protection I need is right here!” she slammed her fist into his face and leaned back, twisting her legs. Her father coughed heavily and attempted to shove her off but she only tightened her legs further. The small of her back was warm and smooth against her hand as she pulled the knife from her waistband. 

“You killed my mother, attempted to murder the only people who have ever shown me kindness…and poisoned my soul.” Her knuckles whitened as she clutched her fingers around the hilt. 

“I hope you enjoy building your empire—in hell!” she screeched the last part, the knife descending and embedding itself in her father’s chest. 

He convulsed beneath her and she narrowed her eyes as he bled out beneath her.

“My…my…” he gasped, blood filling his mouth in a frothy foam. 

“My Black Widow.”

 

Steve paled the moment he walked in the warehouse and scanned the situation. He gun laying on the floor, tossed ten feet from the body. A knife protruding from the dead Russian mobs chest and a pool of blood that expanded in a circle around his body. 

“She stabbed him a total of 27 times.” Clint said softly, frowning down at the scene. Tony was somewhere behind them fiddling with the lighting—he said they needed the light to gather evidence but they knew he was just as horrified as anyone else and mechanical shit made him feel better. 

Steve blanched at the number but Clint continued. “The first wound was fatal—he would have bled out in moments. This was overkill Steve…she was angry and possessed.” 

Steve turned away from the dead body and looked to the ceiling taking deep breaths. What happened to the Natasha he brought into his home? The one who hated waking up early but loved bacon and eggs, the girl who loved watching him read the paper as she quietly contemplated her day. The girl who laughed when she watched the Princess Bride and teased Clint about his unnatural fear of the ROUS’s. 

“She let the darkness win, Clint.” Steve said with a stutter swallowing hard. “The darkness destroyed her and changed her into something unimaginable.”   
Suddenly a warm hand was wrapped around Steve’s shoulder and he was being hugged close to something strong and solid. 

Tony murmured into Steve’s ear, kneeling on the ground with him. Steve hadn’t realized he had sunk to his knees. “Tony I failed…she was so innocent and I failed her…” he moaned and buried his head in the crook of Tony’s neck sobbing quietly. 

Above them Coulson stepped up to Clint, looking down at the gun in a plastic Ziploc baggy. “It’s Steve’s gun.” 

Clint looked down and sighed. “Is Steve going to get in trouble for this?” 

Coulson shook his head. “No. The weapon was not discharged and he was not killed by a gunshot wound. Besides, Steve followed the proper channels when he realized his weapon had been stolen.”   
Clint nodded and briefly let his hand find Phil’s, holding it tightly. A bright spot of warmth in the cold warehouse. 

“Tony take Steve home.” Coulson barked out and for once Tony obeyed without a smart ass comment. 

Clint sighed and watched the two head out, one supporting the other. They looked so natural together, the two of them. Two beating hearts that had to go through hell to find each other. 

Coulson tugged at Clint’s hand. “I’m taking you home…we could both use a beer.” He said with a soft smile and Clint let his head fall against Phil’s. 

“Sounds good to me.”


End file.
